Hey, At Least We're Together
by Echos in my head
Summary: One-shot. When Christophe and Monica get arrested in L.A., random things happen. Monica is an OC. This is not romance. Rated T for language, insults, and fistfights. Contains a little french and a lot of accent from Christophe. First SP fic. No flames.


Hey, At Least We're Together

_Disclaimer: I swear, these things suck. I don't own- fuck this, you know this spiel already!_

_Intro.: My first South Park fic. I felt random, and just decided to go for it. This is a really random one-shot starring Christophe (Ze Mole) and my OC Monica. They are both nine, so the age that they would be in the actual series. NOTE: Monica is a paid assassin. THIS IS NOT ROMANCE!_

"Get in there!" the burly policeguy grunted. He was trying to get a young boy with messy brown hair and a shovel into a prison cell as another kid, a blonde girl, watched with faint amusement in the cell. The boy, however, wasn't going down without a fight.

"Never!" he shouted. He took his shovel by the handle and slammed it in the policeman's head. The girl fell over laughing, and laughed even harder at the expression on the boy's face when he saw that the policeman appeared completely unaffected.

Sighing, the policeman picked up the boy by his shirt and literally threw him into the cell next to the girl, who was still laughing hysterically on the ground.

"Shut up!" the policeman roared. The girl calmed down to snickering, not afraid of the policeman or his threats. The boy just looked pissed.

The policeman shook his head. "I'm going to have to call your parents," he told them. The girl, Monica, shrugged. The boy, Christophe, started swearing in french when he thought of how long his mother was going to ground him. The policeman looked as if he wanted to say one more thing, but instead he turned around, muttering, "Not even worth it."

Monica turned to the boy, who was still going on and on in french, swinging around his shovel. "Do you mind?" she asked as she narrowly missed being whacked in the head. Christophe threw his shovel to the side and started slamming his head against the wall, reverting to english.

"Fook! 'ow could I 'ave been so stupeed?" he shouted. "My muzzer ees going to kill me! God 'ates me! And zose guard dogs, I 'ate ze guard dogs-"

Monica lost all patience by then. "MAIS TU PEUT TE TAIRE?" she screamed at him.

Christophe looked like he just crapped his pants. "You...Tu...You know French?"

Monica rolled her gray eyes. "Living in France for a year will do that to you."

Christophe looked completely mindfucked. Monica sighed and took out a cigarette, lit it and breathed in. Exhaling, she turned to the Mole. "Want one?" she asked, motioning to her packet. The boy eagerly took one and lit it, sighing in contentment.

"Merci." he thanked her in French. They both smoked for a while in silence. Then Monica asked, "Hey Mole?"

"Hm?"

"How did we both get in here in the first place?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I was dared."

Monica raised an eyebrow. "You were dared?"

Christophe nodded. "Ze guys, zey dared me to crash ze Oscars, find ze nearest camera and tell ze world what I think of God. Zey thought eet would be funny."

Monica put down her cigarette and put her face in her hands. "Jesus fucking Christ, you got me kicked out of the Oscars and my fifty thousand dollar hit because you were _dared_ to?" She did not sound amused.

Christophe took a long drag on his cig before answering. "You were at ze Oscars for an 'it?"

Monica looked up, exasperated. "No, I was there because I was accepting the "Best Supporting Actress" award," she said sarcastically.

Christophe shrugged. "I don't see why you would win, eef your acting skeells are as sheety as your impression of a lost leetle girl who somehow ended up at ze Oscars dressed een black and with a shotgun," he said matter-of-factly.

Monica punched him in the eye. "You fucked up my hit!"

The Mole rubbed his eye before yelling back, "You fooked up my dare!"

Monica shook her head. "Out of all the people in South Park, _all of them_, I have to get stuck in a cell with _you_. I'm not even going to ask how you managed to make it to Los Angeles in the first place."

Christophe went over to the edge of the cell where his shovel lay. "I'm not even going to ask why zey didn't take away ze shovel, gun or cigarettes."

Monica picked up her cig again. "Touché," she said.

Christophe began scratching at the floor with his shovel. Monica watched him for a little while before telling him, "You know, I don't think an escape by digging is an option here."

Christophe threw his shovel again. "You're a stuck-up leetle beetch, you know zat?" he spat.

Monica, having enough of his childish bullshit, flipped him off. Christophe in turn aimed a punch at the girl. His blow caught her directly in the bicep. Her eyes widened in shock before she smiled. "Glad to know you don't go easy on girls," she taunted, before throwing a punch herself.

A pretty epic fistfight followed, until at one point Monica took out her gun and aimed it directly at the french kid's heart.

Monica took a few deep breaths. "I'm done with this shit," she said. "I'm going to put my gun down, and we are going to stop fighting and leave each other alone until we get picked up, _tu m'entends?_"

The Mole gritted his teeth as he nodded stiffly. Monica put her gun down and went to one side of the cell, leaving the Mole on the other. They sat in silence, ignoring each other.

A little while later, Monica started humming. Christophe wanted to tell her to stop, but he liked the tune. It was unfamiliar, but it calmed him down a bit, and helped take his mind off of the severe punishment that his mother probably had in store for him. Then Monica started singing quietly.

"_They say that we ain't got the style, we ain't got the class, we ain't got the tunes that's gonna put us on the map and I'm a phony in disguise tryin' to make the radio. I'm an antisocial, anarchist, I sound like so and so..._"

Christophe definitely didn't know this song, but he liked it. Monica had a nice voice, too.

"_They say I'm just a stupid kid, another crazy radical, rock and roll is dead I probably should've stayed in school. Another generation X who somehow slipped up through the cracks, oh they'd love to see me fall but I'm already on my back. And it goes in one ear, and right out the other, people talkin' shit, bit you know I never bother. It goes in one ear, and right out the other, people talkin' shit, they can kiss the back of my hand!_"

Monica kept singing quietly. Christophe kept listening silently. At one point the chorus became familiar to him and he started to hum along. Monica, hearing him, sang louder. At one point, when the singer was supposed to be screaming, that's exactly what she did.

"_You hear that? You hear what's coming? Oh you better run for the hills. Because we're coming to your town, and we're gonna burn that motherfucker down!_"

At that point in the song, Christophe almost smiled. Almost. He kept quiet until Monica had finished singing the final "_They can kiss the back of my hand!_" Then the small moment of peace they had had between them vanished into thin air, and the atmosphere of the room became very awkward.

"You...seeng...nicely," Christophe said.

"Thanks," Monica said, avoiding his gaze. She cleared her throat. "So...why did you freak out when they set those guard dogs on us?"

Christophe cringed. "Oh. Zey...uh...zey killed me once."

"Oh."

Christophe looked over at the blond girl who was noticeably uncomfortable. She looked as if she was thinking something over. She cleared her throat once, twice, before saying, "I can bring people back to life."

Christophe appeared more mindfucked than before, when he had learned that Monica could speak french.

Monica swallowed. "It's a long story," she said.

The Mole understood that she didn't want to talk about it, much like how he didn't want to explain his encounter with the guard dogs at the beginning of the American-Canadian war to save Terrance and Philip.

He looked at his watch. It was close to midnight. "Eet's 'ard to believe zat eef we didn't run eento each ozzer at ze Oscars, we could 'ave been 'ome by now."

Monica shook her head. "This is the first time I've been arrested on a mission. I've never had to go on bail before." This time, it was Monica's turn to hit her head against the wall. "I'm...such...a...fuck...up!" She timed each word with a head smack to the wall.

Christophe sighed. "Eet could be worse, you know," he told her.

Monica rested her head against the wall. "Hey, at least we're together, right?" she said sarcastically.

Christophe shrugged. "You may be a crazy, violent beetch, but I'd prefer you over a guard dog any day."

Monica smiled slightly. "And you may be a douchey french asshole, but I'd prefer you over being caught putting bullets in celebrity skulls."

The Mole stuck out a hand. "Truce?"

Monica shook it. "Truce."

"Now, what was zat song you were seenging?"

oOo

The next day, Monica and Christophe were taken out of prison, Monica by some people from a "classified agency", and Christophe by an angry french woman. Neither of them regretted their trip to L.A., nor did they regret accidentally running into each other. They were bruised from fighting, their throats were sore from yelling, they had headaches from slamming their heads against the wall, and they were great friends.

As Madame DeLorne started screaming at her son about how he was going to be grounded for years, the Mole began to sing under his breath.

"_'eres ze moral of ze story, we don't do eet for ze glory, we don't do eet for ze money, we don't do eet for ze fame. So all ze critiques 'oo despise us go a'ead and criticize us, eet's your tyranny zat drives us, adding fire to ze flame..._"

Monica was thanking her boss for bailing her out and apologizing for failing her mission. But she turned away from him to see Christophe getting pulled into a car by his mother. She smiled. "I'll see you in school," she said to herself as the car drove down the hill and out of sight.

_My first South Park fic, if it's terrible I'm sorry. I'd appreciate reviews as long as they aren't flames. The song is "In One Ear" by Cage the Elephant._


End file.
